Showing posts with label Beth Follett. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Beth Follett. Show all posts

Saturday, December 02, 2023

Ongoing notes: the ottawa small press book fair (part two : Ellen Chang-Richardson + Beth Follett,

[see the first part of these notes here]

Ottawa ON: The latest from Ottawa-based poet Ellen Chang-Richardson, following a handful of five prior chapbooks authored or co-authored, including their debut, Unlucky Fours (Anstruther Press, 2020) [see my review of such here] and the collaborative holy disorder of being (Gap Riot Press, 2022) [see my review of such here] is concussion, baby (Ottawa ON: Apt. 9 Press, 2023). concussion, baby is a small, sketched assemblage of poems that respond directly to the author’s concussion and aftermath, following a trajectory of poets responding to health crises, whether through works by Pearl Pirie, Elee Kraljii Gardiner’s Trauma Head (Anvil Press, 2018) [see my review of such here], Brian Teare’s The Empty Form Goes All the Way to Heaven (Ahsahta Press, 2015; Nightboat Books, 2022) [see my review of the first edition here] or Christine McNair’s forthcoming non-fiction Toxemia (Book*hug, 2024). These poems are set as moments, narrative pinpoints and jumbles, as though all the mind could hold at the time, striking against illness and rippling alongside recovery. “I text my lover, / mumble-jumbles / the same day I / find a house / mouse dead,” the opening poem, “sweet nothings” reads, “at the bottom / of my recycling bin.” And did you hear that Chang-Richardson’s full-length debut is out come spring with Wolsak and Wynn?

beauty

[in] the meteor of a person with too much red in their system
[in] the safety of the shape of someone who sleeps while you are awake
[in] the motes of a carpet  old & dusty & worn
[in] the striations of starburst that burns

[in] the cornea as it shrinks.

Ottawa ON/St. John’s NL: The latest from St. John’s, Newfoundland writer Beth Follett is Learning to Crawl (and other poems) (Ottawa ON: Apt. 9 Press, 2023), her second chapbook with Cameron Anstee’s Apt.9 Press, after A Thinking Woman Sleeps With Monsters (2014) [see my review of such here]. It would appear that Follett, amid novel publication (I would highly recommend her second novel, Instructor: A Novel, published by Breakwater Books in 2021; I reviewed it here), she has quietly released chapbooks every so often, with another, Bone Hinged (Toronto ON: espresso, 2010) [see my review of such here], released a few years prior to landing with Apt. 9; might a full-length poetry debut for Follett be on the horizon at some point? Honestly, there is something quite compelling about these seemingly stand-alone missives quietly put out into the world, and Learning to Crawl (and other poems) is a title that might not have begun as a collection on and around grief, but one that evolved into such, following the death of her partner, Stan Dragland, in 2022. The opening poem, “BETWEEN CUT KNIFE & SWEETGRASS,” sets the tone for the collection in both a straightforward and devastating manner, offering this as the first of the poem’s three stanzas: “I am a cold, cold teacher. / I don’t even. I don’t have a. / Husband. No he died, you can / tell me till you’re blue in the face. / But a fact. It isn’t even. I don’t even. / I don’t have a snack. I’m here, / a cold instructor on a widow odyssey.” Or, as she writes as part of the poem “I ACHE SOMETIMES, FROM LOVING MY DAYS SO MUCH, FROM LOVING”: “I love asking via Fanny Howe what are you looking for when you erase a word / because I took out a decorative word and replaced it plainspokenly.” Set on a foundation of profound loss, Follett’s narrative lyric meditations offer a pause within a moment that accumulate into a slow lean, one that might evolve into the mid-step before into what might follow.

BEFORE A WALK IN WINTER

The sun a pale dot in an erstwhile veil. Never trust it. Have a cookie.
Don’t put on boots while the fog horn blows. Know exactly
where and when to put your foot down. Propulsion. Here’s the dust,
the grime of electricity. Teaser the dove. Soon oh soon genius will rise,
the chartered grant of sleep. You might miss it if you leave the house.
Should nails be filed, those of toes that moon
for the darning of socks? Was that the post? Maybe drink some water,
avoid deep thrombosis proceeding from dehydration. Potatoes are sprouting,
ice cream is lost to freezer burn. Fully naked the doorbell
rings. Fully clad for this winter walk, nature calls.

Leave oh leave too soon forever gone.


Saturday, August 06, 2022

Stan Dragland (December 2, 1942 – August 2, 2022)

Sad to hear, via Toronto poet Ronna Bloom, that novelist, poet and literary critic Stan Dragland died earlier this week, half-through his eightieth year. As Stephen Brockwell responded to the news over email: “He was instrumental in shaping my perceptions of Canadian poetry. An open hearted, curious reader and writer.” Most probably already know that Dragland spent his teaching career the English Department at University of Western Ontario, where he remained until retirement (becoming Professor Emeritus), during which he was a co-founding editor and publisher of Brick Books (with Don McKay), a position he served until not that long ago, as well as a founding editor and publisher of Brick: A Literary Journal (with Jean McKay). After retirement, he relocated to St. John’s, Newfoundland and built a home with the writer and Pedlar Press publisher Beth Follett. He also published a stack of incredible books: if you look at his Wikipedia page, you can find a list of his titles, any and all of which I would highly recommend (I’ve even reviewed a few of them here and here; and mentioned him and his work in essays here and here).

As I’ve said elsewhere, I’ve always envied Stan Dragland’s ease with literary criticism; how he articulates the interconnectivity of reading, thinking, literature and living in the world in terms deceptively simple, deeply complex, and incredibly precise. I’ve envied his sentences, and how his prose connects seemingly unconnected thoughts, ideas and passages into highly complex and intelligent arguments that manage to collage with an almost folksy and deceptive ease (a quality his critical prose shares with the poetry of Phil Hall). If the 1960s and 70s saw George Bowering as one of the most prolific reviewers of Canadian poetry, and, as many have said, Frank Davey was our finest literary critic during the same period, Stan Dragland would emerge out of those years as a literary critic with an open and inviting heart, displaying a deep and abiding love for the materials he chose to explore. It was through Dragland’s eyes that I first understood just how wide-ranging criticism could be, as he brought in a myriad of thoughts, references and personal reflections to craft a criticism far more astute, and more intimate, than anything else out there.

I caught a second-hand copy of his Journeys Through Bookland and Other Passages (Coach House Press, 1984) rather early in my twentysomething explorations, and was struck by his depth, composing perfect sentences of pure craft. It was through Dragland that I was allowed a further view into the work of writers such as Robert Kroetsch, Elizabeth Hay, Phil Hall, Lisa Moore and Margaret Avison. I’ve probably read through that collection a good dozen times, even taking it with me as part of reading tours, rereading his thoughts on Kroetsch, for example, some twenty years ago on the overnight passenger Via Train heading west beyond Winnipeg. Given how often I’ve picked it up over the years, it’s never where it should be on the shelf, and always takes forever to unearth. I can’t even figure out where it currently is, now that I want to look at it again. Instead, I offer an early paragraph of his more recent The Bricoleur & His Sentences (Pedlar Press, 2014) [see my review of such here]:

            Even casual reflection shows that the business of character, biography or autobiography, is a lot more complicated than a person might think. I got to thinking about this when Michael Ondaatje asked me to send him my bundle of sentences, because it’s personal and quirky and not meant to be shared without commentary. I began to think of it as a kind of postcard taped to the fridge. What would Michael and Mary Oliver and the barbershop dog think of it? I foresaw scratching of the head. Then I began to think about the word “bricoleur” as regularly applied to me by Don McKay. Might it fit not only my gathering and making of odd things, but also my puddle-jumping mind? Does it describe me all too well? This is not modesty. I think better sideways or in circles than straight on, so I hand my best attempts to others then do what I can to fix the flaws they spot. Do not imagine that this comes direct from me to you.

Dragland was kind enough to offer a reworked excerpt of The Difficult (2019) for my recent festschrift for Phil Hall, which included information in his author biography about a forthcoming title. As he wrote: “James Reaney on the Grid: An Essay will appear in 2022.”

Already some other tribute pieces have posted as well, such as over at Book*hug, and two poems by Ronna Bloom.

Condolences to his friends and family, including his children, and to Beth.

Monday, August 09, 2021

Beth Follett, Instructor: A Novel

 

Her mother, Rose – how she wails and shouts and tears her clothes when bad news arrives, when any new horror falls. How Rose and her father, Sam, will wail, forced to do the one thing they cannot easily or with pleasure do – wait. In their Swiss German tongue there is a phrase for a wordless thought that arrives in one’s mind, a sudden flare, an impulse not yet formed. One would say of this flare: There is a bird in it. The bird comes to her: Go. She moves quickly, involuntarily. She assembles things one needs for a brief stay at a summer lake: cottons, linens, black lingerie, a sweater, folds these into a black leather suitcase. On the drive north, thought does not exist. When a thought presses in, she refuses it, though how she does so she cannot say. The atmosphere in the car is the pressure of resistance in June sun.

Newfoundland writer and Pedlar Press founder/publisher Beth Follett’s long-awaited follow up to her debut novel, Tell It Slant (Toronto ON: Coach House Books, 2001), is Instructor: A Novel (St. John’s NL: Breakwater Books, 2021). Through a prose concurrently lyric and lush and perfectly precise, Follett’s novel opens as Ydessa Bloom responds to the death of her husband, Roger. Roger, an “experienced pilot,” dies when his Cessna crashes into an Ontario lake, and Ydessa steps away from the whole of her life in urban Toronto to spend a couple of weeks in a cabin on that lake; a couple of weeks, which turns into three months. While there, she interacts with three individuals on their own trajectories, including eight-year-old Henry Rattle, who grieves the loss of his mother, and the seeming-apathy of his distracted, absent father.

Moving through an accumulation of short sections and shifting between characters, Instructor sustains a dark mood that struggles to right itself, even through the onset of grief, giving in and giving up. Ydessa contends with the absence and refusal of what comes next; and then there is Henry Rattle, a boy who appears weightless, but feels the weight of everything, quietly compelled to gravitate towards this grieving stranger in the lakeside rental. Instructor writes on grief and attempting to sidestep it, which instead forces Ydessa to be swept away towards something else. Follett’s prose is remarkable, composed in propulsive sweeps and thoughtful asides, exploring a vast interiority of uncertainty, fragility and the body.

            She renews her glad friendship in silence, in sunlight. This is how it is. Barri controls the boat, Ydessa controls her tongue, Henry draws the rolling patterns of the fluctuating world. When Roger was alive. The sentence won’t come alive. It goes nowhere. Always been alone is quite possibly the most pompous thought she’s ever had. Anguish over her sustained indolence – could it shift, could indolence be redefined as patience? Has there ever been a time when she was free not to act? Must a woman who contrives not to act punish herself with the visible, tangible world?

Knowing how busy she has been producing titles through Pedlar Press, it isn’t unusual for such a long break between titles, and, according to the notes in her acknowledgements, Instructor was composed across a stretch of some fourteen years. One could also mention her poetry chapbook through Cameron Anstee’s Apt. 9 Press, the now long out-of-print A Thinking Woman Sleeps With Monsters [see my review of such here], which appeared in 2014. Might that suggest the possibility of a full-length collection down the road, another project of multiple-years?

Monday, September 28, 2015

12 or 20 (small press) questions with Maureen Scott Harris on Fieldnotes/MSH



I think of Fieldnotes/MSH as an imprint rather than a press, and myself as an amateur (in the root sense of that word) working on the margins of the small press world. Under this imprint I publish (erratically) occasional broadsides and chapbooks. The broadsides (so far) are my own poems and I circulate them to friends and colleagues to celebrate National Poetry Month. The chapbooks are prose, texts I’ve come across one way or another that I feel deserve an audience. Fieldnotes operates pretty much within the gift economy—chapbook authors get 10% of the print run. I try to recoup design and printing costs. If I do better than that the money goes towards the next publication. 

Canadian poet and essayist Maureen Scott Harris was born in Prince Rupert (BC), grew up in Winnipeg (MB) and lives in Toronto (ON). She has published three collections of poetry: A Possible Landscape (Brick Books, 1993), Drowning Lessons (Pedlar Press, 2004) awarded the 2005 Trillium Book Award for Poetry, and Slow Curve Out (Pedlar Press, 2012), shortlisted for the League of Canadian Poets’ Pat Lowther Award. Harris’s essays have won the Prairie Fire Creative Nonfiction Prize, and the WildCare Tasmania Nature Writing Prize, which included a residency in Tasmania at Lake St. Clair. In 2012-2013 she was Artist-in-Residence at the Koffler Scientific Reserve at Jokers Hill, north of Toronto. With other poets and environmentalists she is currently plotting poetry walks that follow the (sometimes buried) rivers and streams of Toronto. Fieldnotes/MSH is her own enterprise.

1 – When did Fieldnotes/MSH first start? How have your original goals as a publisher shifted since you started, if at all? And what have you learned through the process?
Fieldnotes began in January 2002 when I decided I wanted to publish a broadside of my poem “The Drowned Boy.” For some time I’d wanted to do something to mark National Poetry Month. I bought a big rubber stamp that says ‘National Poetry Month,’ stamped envelopes with it, and sent the broadside out to friends and colleagues. My initial intention was to publish a broadside every year for poetry month, but I only managed to keep it going for another year.

Then in 2010 I heard Pedlar Press publisher Beth Follett speak in the Hart House Library (University of Toronto) about the future of the printed book and its readers. Beth is always eloquent. The audience was excited and inspired by what she had to say, but it wasn’t large. It seemed to me—and several others—that her talk should be published. I thought about it for a few days, and decided I could publish it as a Fieldnotes Chapbook.

I had no immediate intention of publishing anything more. But when Beth’s YesNo appeared and was launched people began to ask me what I’d publish next. I didn’t want to invest a lot of time in publishing and I don’t have a lot of money for it either, but I decided I would consider occasional publications, guided by my own responses to what I happened upon. I’m interested in talks and lectures, things that might disappear beyond their occasion. I’m also mainly interested in prose. 

That said, the second Fieldnotes Chapbook was in fact a collection of poems written in response to a sculpture exhibition by Susan Low-Beer. It appeared in 2013.  Fieldnotes came into that late in the game. With several other poets I’d been invited to view a series of Low-Beer’s sculptured heads and write something in response to them. The poems were assembled, edited, and the book designed when the group went looking for an ISBN. I was asked if it could appear as a Fieldnotes chapbook  and said yes.

Late in 2014 I read an unpublished essay by Kelley Aitken about the Penone sculpture that once graced the Galeria Italia at the AGO. I’ve mourned that work’s disappearance, so I decided to publish the essay. It launched in January 2015. I’m now working on the next chapbook, Stan Dragland’s Page Lecture (delivered at Queen’s University about a year ago) on the poetry and prose of Joanne Page.

Last April I revived my poetry month broadside and I expect to publish another one in 2016. I’ve learned that it takes time and energy to publish, but it’s also satisfying. I expect Fieldnotes will publish erratically in the future as it has in the past. And it will continue, if it does, as I come across material that I think deserves an audience.

2 – What first brought you to publishing?
I’ve been interested in small press publishing since the late 1960s when I was in what we then called library school. My favourite course, taught by Douglas Lochhead, was the history of books and printing. During it we pulled some prints on the Massey College presses. I also did a project on little magazines and literary ephemera for my humanities materials course. From a library standpoint such publications are hard to learn about and to collect; there was a growing interest in them that paralleled the growing interest in Canadian writing.

Much later, and for about 10 years, I worked at Robarts Library as the CIP librarian, doing the catalogue copy for forthcoming books; through that job I met many people in publishing. Then I worked for Brick Books as production manager for several years. Working for them I learned how small publishing unfolds and, given computers, it seemed pretty easy to make a broadside.  

3 – What do you consider the role and responsibilities, if any, of small publishing?
I think each small press must determine its own role and responsibilities. That said, I think the responsibilities fall in two directions: to the writer and to the reader. I want to produce chapbooks that embody or hold their texts appropriately and as beautifully as possible, in tribute to the work that goes into writing them—and I also want to extend the life of what might otherwise not be seen or heard.

4 – What do you see your press doing that no one else is?
Hmmm—perhaps rejoicing solely in the serendipitous.

5 – What do you see as the most effective way to get new chapbooks out into the world?
In my experience the launch of a chapbook is the most effective form of distribution. I believe attendance at small press fairs is also good, but as an introvert I find an afternoon of crowds completely exhausting and so don’t participate regularly. Word of mouth. I don’t use social media because I don’t know how to use it effectively, and I don’t want to spend time on it. 

6 – How involved an editor are you? Do you dig deep into line edits, or do you prefer more of a light touch?
It depends on how much editing the work requires. I’ve done both light and more involved editing.

7 – How do your books get distributed? What are your usual print runs?
Mostly by the launch, some by mail. My chapbook print runs have been 100 copies—though the Page Lecture will be 200.

8 – How many other people are involved with editing or production? Do you work with other editors, and if so, how effective do you find it? What are the benefits, drawbacks?
So far I’ve worked directly only with authors and designers. I do the editing and copy-editing myself, though I sometimes consult with friends who have those skills. And of course I work with the printer.

9 – How has being an editor/publisher changed the way you think about your own writing?
It’s shown me that I don’t necessarily have to wait on anyone else to publish something that I want to see published.

10– How do you approach the idea of publishing your own writing? Some, such as Gary Geddes when he still ran Cormorant, refused such, yet various Coach House Press’ editors had titles during their tenures as editors for the press, including Victor Coleman and bpNichol. What do you think of the arguments for or against, or do you see the whole question as irrelevant?
Fieldnotes began as a vehicle to publish my own poems—though the poems I used for them had already appeared in journals. So I’m clearly not opposed to self-publishing. That said, I would in general prefer not to publish a chapbook of my own work, unless it was work that had been published elsewhere and so had the benefit of editing.

11– How do you see Fieldnotes evolving?
I don’t see it evolving beyond what it is.

12– What, as a publisher, are you most proud of accomplishing? What do you think people have overlooked about your publications? What is your biggest frustration?
I’m proud to have brought into a larger public arena some writing and thinking that might have stayed ephemeral or in the manuscript drawer.  As for frustrations—distribution is the historical issue for Canadian publishing. If there were more hours in the day and I were more social I might figure out a way to do this better. 

13– Who were your early publishing models when starting out?
Brick Books, with its attention to both editing and authors, offers a wonderful model for publishing, as does Pedlar Press.

14– How does Fieldnotes work to engage with your immediate literary community, and community at large? What journals or presses do you see Fieldnotes in dialogue with? How important do you see those dialogues, those conversations?
Fieldnotes is really a peripheral enterprise, not particularly in dialogue with anyone. Though I do like to talk to, for example, Carleton Wilson and Nicholas Power about the small press world.

15– Do you hold regular or occasional readings or launches? How important do you see public readings and other events?
I hold a launch for each chapbook, at which I invite the author to read or to speak about the project.

16– How do you utilize the internet, if at all, to further your goals?
I haven’t utilized it. At best I might post a note on my Facebook page.

17– Do you take submissions? If so, what aren’t you looking for?
No.

18– Tell me about three of your most recent titles, and why they’re special.
Fieldnotes has only published 4 chapbooks, and of those, only 3 are ones I can claim. I’ve already described them above in my answer to the first question. But I’ll say something about the broadsides. I met Alan Siu of Sunville Printco Inc when I was working for Brick Books; he prints, and has designed, for them. Alan has done all my broadsides, and is currently designing the Page Lecture—he’s generous and a delight to work with.